


Vigilis

by sunshinestealer, TheSikorsky



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angels, Gen, Guardian Angels, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinestealer/pseuds/sunshinestealer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSikorsky/pseuds/TheSikorsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee is a high school student living in a run down part of the city with his half-brother Kurloz. Lacking any kind of direction in his life, he’s taken up bad habits and seems determined to spiral into the same lifestyle of his drug-dealing brother… That is, until his guardian angel Karkat decides he’s had enough and things have got to change around here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been three years since Gamzee had moved into his brother’s apartment, and it had been the first year he’d attended school. Not that he had attended much, but hopefully enough to keep the local authorities off of his tail. He wasn’t sure if he was even going to graduate this time next year. Sometimes, when he wasn’t sleeping at the back of his classes, he’d overhear the other students talking about college applications and letters they’d received for internship programs and visits to universities… They had their shit together. 

Gamzee’s future was a lot more uncertain. He’d gotten used to running jobs for his older half-brother, and having strangers in their house at all hours. He’d had to strong-arm some desperate people outside, brandishing a gun or a knife so they got the point to stay the fuck away. And all because of the incredible operation Kurloz was running in the basement of their apartment building.

The landlord had died two years prior, and the apartments on the second floor had become a squat for some of Kurloz’s most loyal customers. Their own apartment on the ground floor was fairly large, and had been previously occupied by the landlord. Now he was gone and no realtors had bothered coming to a neighborhood of such ill repute, Kurloz and Gamzee had spent a weekend gutting their original second floor apartment and moving downstairs, for more ease of access to the secret basement. Before his death, Kurloz had taken advantage of the landlord’s spotty memory to install a keypad and then forget to tell him what the access code was. (Not that the old coot had the strength to open the heavy door once the correct code had been entered.)

He laid against the wall of the half pipe, smoking a cigarette. That had been the first vice he’d taken up thanks to his parents. It wasn’t hard to get a fake ID in this city, and Kurloz had set him up with one the moment he’d arrived, shivering from the cold that awful December night. He’d grown into the height reported on the ID card, and his face had matured, so no eyebrows were raised by the store clerks when he went to purchase his Marlboros.

Catching sight of a cop, he quickly stubbed out the cigarette. He’d already been cautioned for vagrancy in this park, and didn’t want to give the police an excuse to haul him in and detect the weed in his system from his lunchtime smoke with Kurloz. He stood up quickly, making his way towards the park path and sticking his hands in his windbreaker, looking as though he had some purpose.

Well, that couldn’t be any farther from the truth.

 

* * *

  

Kurloz wasn’t there when Gamzee arrived home, but he shrugged. He was away most nights. Several bags full of Chinese takeout had been left on the counter, though. Kurloz had also left a Post-It note saying “HELP YOURSELF” in his rough, angular handwriting.

The apartment was never clean, and it hadn’t been since it had been built. Little roaches scuttled around everywhere, and there was a mouse problem every now and again. There was no doubt these infestations were exacerbated by the brothers’ rather lax attitude towards tidiness. Gamzee simply grabbed a fork out of the dirty dish water in the sink, wiping it dry on an old dish towel, before shoving a plastic box of beef chow mein into the microwave. 

The TV hardly ever worked, despite being a brand new plasma screen. Something about ‘the wiring being kinda busted.’ It could get a few channels, and radio, but wouldn’t hook up to a DVR or any kind of cable or satellite. Kurloz said he’d fix it some time, and that day had never come.

He flicked it on, keen to lay back on the torn sponge cushions that could have once been called a couch, and cleared away some of the bongs on the coffee table to put his feet up. The takeout was greasy, as usual — Kurloz seemed to have some deal going on with the local place that allowed him to simply show up at the back of the premises and get all this food for free. Gamzee shrugged. It was better than the dumpster diving he’d had to do in his moments of desperation.

Kurloz was roughly ten years older than Gamzee. Born to the same father by different mothers. Their father was said to be an imposing, terrifying man who Gamzee suspected was behind Kurloz’s intellect and talent in the drug business. Personally, he had never met him, and from Kurloz’s stories, he hoped he would never have to. 

His own mother had died, leaving Gamzee a ward of the state at just twelve years old. The institution they had placed him in, however, was awful — and he ran away multiple times. The fourth time he was picked up, the police had found his father, in a city across the state, living with his son. Simply wishing to get this case over with as soon as possible, the social worker had signed him over, and that had been the end of it.

Gamzee was greeted by his brother in a large house in a fairly upper middle class suburb, but didn’t see his father for the entire month they stayed there. Kurloz had insisted Gamzee move in with him further downtown, and he could hardly refuse that offer. Live with your kindly older brother, or have a tense relationship with a man who was hardly ever around?

Kurloz’s mother had left his life at roughly the same age, although she was still alive. When asked, Kurloz shrugged and mentioned something about her new boyfriend in Canada. Gamzee would later figure out that this was code for witness protection. “Father’s absolutely untouchable, though,” Kurloz had said. “Hell, you mention our surname to some of the local cops and they’ll bend over backwards for you.”

It hadn’t been a particularly long day for Gamzee; he had risen at 10am, wandered off in the direction of school, and sat in study hall for an hour before hopping the fence for lunch back home. Then he’d wandered back and found himself in the park. It was only 6pm, but he could feel his eyelids getting heavier, resting the tub of food on his stomach.

He allowed himself to doze off, figuring he’d wake up when Kurloz arrived home from dealing in the local neighborhoods. Or meeting with his father, who the hell knew.

When Gamzee’s eyes opened two hours later, however, it wasn’t the sight of his brother that greeted him. Nor was it any of their neighbors, or a robber trying to haul away their valuables.

The face that leered at Gamzee was curled into an irritated sneer, arms folded and eyes almost bulging. Whoever it was, they would have looked intimidating… if not for the long white shift and golden sandals.

“I know you’re awake, you utter fucking waste of space,” the angel announced, tapping one foot in irritation. Gamzee was simply too stunned to offer a retort. “Gamzee Makara. You are one of the rare few humans who ever actually gets to _meet_ their guardian angel. Heavenly Father has decreed that you and I will be sticking together for quite a while. Let's get introductions out of the way - my name is unpronounceable in any human language, but for now, you may call me Karkat. You are the only person who can see or hear me, and I’m going to make _damned sure_ that you get your miserable life back on track.” 

His enormous white wings flared out from behind him, as if to prove his point. As if Gamzee had been questioning if somebody in a white dress would break into his house with a prepared speech about being an angel of the Lord. A bright light began to glow from around the angel’s crown too.

“…Holy fuck.” Gamzee bleated, his eyes widening further.

“Holy fuck, indeed.”


	2. Chapter 2

There was an angel in his living room. 

_There was an angel in his living room._

An honest-to-God, real life angel. Not even the most talented Hollywood effects artist could come up with wings that looked so real, the ethereal glow, and the almost blindingly beautiful light of the angel’s halo. Or the wonderfully beguiling voice as it spoke its sermon to him.

“So. I imagine you have quite a few questions,” Karkat said. “To answer a few of the most common ones: yes, every human has a guardian angel. Yes, this means that God is real. No, this does not mean I am here to convert you into a believer, nor will I make you attend any religious temples, festivals or observances. Heavenly Father’s given mankind free will, meaning that you have the _choice_ to be religious. And yes, even atheists have a shot at getting into Heaven, so long as they’ve led a good life. And I can’t describe Heaven in earthly terms, so don’t ask me what it’s like. Okay?”

“O-okay.” Gamzee finally arranged himself so he was sitting up a little straighter. Karkat continued to stand imperiously, his arms folded.

"I'm the guy who's been looking out for your idiot ass all these years, and with every day of your life, I have only grown to hate you more. I could compose epic ballads longer than _Artamène ou le Grand Cyrus_ and never stray from the topic of how much I despise you. If death were possible for my kind, I would kill myself right now rather than spend a further second watching you. But I've protected you all these years. So, you had _better_ respect my judgement when we’re trying to get you back onto the right path.”

Gamzee’s knuckles whitened on his knees. This was just… too unbelievable. He hadn’t rolled a joint with his brother since 1pm that day. And it was now past 8pm. He couldn’t still be seeing things. His mouth was agape, but he couldn’t seem to make any words come out.

“Speechless?” Karkat asked. “Get used to it. I’m going to be at your side for as long as I need to be, but I won’t be watching you take a shit or piss or anything like that. Even though keeping you on the straight and narrow is my primary directive, I do have _other_ angelic acts to do on this plane, so I won’t always be by your side. We got that clear?”

He nodded. “But… if you’re an angel… you’re uh. Swearing a whole lot.”

Karkat snorted. “Swear words are a relatively common invention. Every ancient language has some kind of word in it that is used to blast out one’s anger. Your lot just recently decided that your language’s equivalent of these words were so terrible you had to cover your children’s _precious little ears._ Ugh, linguistics lesson over. Bottom line — I’m always angry, so you’re going to hear me ‘cuss’ a lot. And no, I won’t censor myself.”

The awe of seeing the angel was beginning to wear off for Gamzee. The creature of divine perfection raised an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps we should take this to the kitchen, for a more communal chat, rather than me standing over you like that useless vice principal who keeps trying to make you take your absences seriously.”

“Whoa, you know Mr. Hart?” Gamzee blinked, getting up from the couch as commanded. He brought the angel into their small kitchenette, pulling up a stall on the island for the both of them.

“No, not personally. The guardian angel that’s assigned to him is a moron. Were you even listening to a goddamn thing I said? I watch over you from Heaven. I _watch over everything you do._ Jesus wept, is your short term memory that bad?”

“It’s always been bad.” Gamzee shrugged, getting up from his stool and going to climb on the counters, hauling down a large bag of chips from the top of one of the cabinets. He’d gotten peckish, despite the large serving of noodles and beef he’d chowed down on earlier.

Karkat grunted disapprovingly at the sight of the chips. "Do you ever eat anything but shit?”

“Uh… well… we always got plenty of snacks.”

"Snacks aren't real food. Heavenly Father didn't give your pathetic, parasitic species plants and animals just so you could process everything good out of them and inject yourself with chemicals.”

A silence fell over the both of them.

“Yes, I know about your stupid drug habit. And your brother’s sins. And your father’s. And your mother before that.”

It took Gamzee a few moments to collect his breath, struck by the angel’s audacity to rip open a wound like that. “Look, my mom wasn’t always the best, but…”

“But what, Gamzee? You think you can justify a mother who’d leave you alone all night as a baby, or drop you off with twenty dollars to be babysat by that ever-rotating cycle of neighbors? A mother who sometimes didn’t even clean up the needles and spoons in the fucking living room? Who didn’t take you to hospital when you got that infection because she didn’t have the insurance and didn’t want social workers snooping around?”

“ENOUGH!” Gamzee pounded his fist hard on the counter. “Don’t you fucking DARE talk about her like that.” It was clear to see he was fighting back tears. “You’re a shitty guardian angel if you’ve let my life go on like this all this time.”

“Let your life go on like what, Gamzee?”

“EVERYTHING THAT’S HAPPENED. Why would I believe in God or you angels if you never tried to lift me out of the bad places in my life?”

He snorted. “You mean, besides seeing one appear right in front of you? Look. There’s an old adage that God works in mysterious ways. And for the most part, this is true. But it’s not God singling you out for punishment, nor is He doing the same for anybody else with a crappy life. Humans have free will, and a lot of them choose to be shitheads. On the flip side, a lot of humans choose to be good people. You just got lumped in with the shitheads.”

“I was homeless for a while. Where was God then?” His tone was calmer, but his voice still shook.

“That was _me_. I was the one making sure the police bothered to follow up on their investigation before you froze to death under a bridge. When you got stabbed for your shoes that one time? That was me, guiding the stupid fuck’s hand so his blade didn’t pierce anything vital. You’ve still got the scar.”

Gamzee nodded, almost instinctively touching the cut across his ribs. After another silence, he wrung his hands and started: “So… my holy crusade is to just get my life back on track?”

“Holy shit, your incompetence knows no bounds. Try using your _ears_ for once! Did I say anything any about crusading? I don't think I did, but maybe I'm wrong! Maybe Heavenly Father fucked up when he made me, and I'm actually just as fallible as you humans, so I said something that was completely different to what I actually intended! That sure would explain a lot, thank you for opening my eyes!”

He blinked. “Aight, well… We ain’t gonna get nowhere if you’re gonna yell at me like this.”

The angel stood up from the stool, his eyes fiery. (Again.) “You have a _mission_. Not a _crusade_. Or did I come down in the wrong century, where ‘crusade’, a holy fucking _war_ , has now been so diluted that it means just a meek little battle of fisticuffs?”

“…A mission. Like them Mormon kids?”

He sighed, his hand resting against his forehead. “Yes. A mission.Not to convert others, though — just a two year plan to get yourself back on the right path. Something I have said at least _three times_ now.” 

“Like I said, you gotta repeat things with me.”

The angel made a rather theatrical display, crossing himself and putting his hands together in prayer. “Heavenly Father, please, give me the strength not to wish for you to smite this utter fucking idiot where he stands, and please, please, _please_ , give me a hand here.”

“Uh…”

Karkat quickly said his amen, folding his arms again as he looked at Gamzee. “Your brother is coming home in roughly five minutes. With that ditz of a girlfriend who nearly got fucking arrested at the airport for transporting drugs last year. Maybe you ought to get up to bed before you have to explain why you’re stood in the kitchen talking to yourself.”

He shrugged, trudging down the hall towards his bedroom. Kurloz might laugh at him tomorrow for going to bed so early. Well, there _was_ a Spanish quiz first thing tomorrow morning. At least, Gamzee had learned that from the concerned chatter amongst the kids in study hall today.

Gamzee didn’t even take Spanish. Not that Kurloz was particularly attentive. His brother had barely scraped his GED, and wouldn't have been surprised if Gamzee chose to drop out and join him in the family business.

He flopped back onto the stained covers of his bed, which was essentially, a mattress in the apartment’s storage room.

“Ugh, how can you live in such squalor?” A disembodied voice asked, before Karkat materialized into the room. “You know what? This isn’t poverty, it’s fucking laziness. I _know_ Kurloz told you where he keeps the drug money stashed.”

“Under the floorboard in the hall, and in his own room behind a loose brick,” Gamzee murmured, rolling his face into a lumpy pillow. “I gotta inform him how much I take, though. Else I get in trouble.”

The angel rolled his shoulders, folded wings rustling behind his back. “So, you don’t think your life with your mother was abusive. But you’re happy to live with a fucking drug addict and pusher, who offers vice and temptation? Who’s determined to drag you down along with him, and keeps you living in filth?”

“I ain’t got nowhere else,” he mumbled from beneath his pillow. “‘Sides, Kurloz ain’t trying to drag me down into his lifestyle…”

“Oh yes, because all those times where he got you to run across town with baggies of weed in your pockets? Totally not manipulative at all! Or that time you had to hire a tuxedo and dress up to get into a fancy hotel and deal cocaine to the porters after their fucking decadent, rich asshole clientele wanted to snort themselves silly? You _like_ being a drug runner? I guess it’s nearly as shit a job as watching over an idiot like you. Billions upon billions of us guardian angels, all assigned to one individual human. Meanwhile, there’s an entire choir of angels who are just giant eyes on wheels who get to terrify the shit out of the pious in their dreams. Entire choirs who get to sit next to God and just sing his praises all day long. Angels who get _flaming swords_. As in, actual swords that are on fire and can be used to smite the wicked. I never got a flaming sword, Gamzee. Heavenly Father just slapped on my wings and halo in the production line and said, ‘Hello, Karkat, your task is to protect this stupid baby that’s just been born! He’s in a neonatal care ward in the hospital thanks to his stupid mother and he’s going to grow up to be one of the most spectacular fuck-ups you will ever witness. Have at it!’”

Gamzee stiffened. “Can you please… stop talking about my mom like that?”

Karkat sighed. “Okay, maybe I went too far. But you get my point, right? This is still an abusive place. Even if Kurloz doesn’t hit you—”

“Don’t you MOTHERFUCKING BRING THAT UP,” Gamzee was wild, standing up from his mattress and squaring up to the angel, who remained non-plussed. “I GET IT.”

The angel pressed a finger to his lips. From somewhere down the hall, Gamzee heard: “You okay, lil brother?”

“I’M FINE!” He shouted back, before glaring daggers at the angel, who had moved into the small alcove where Gamzee’s laundry was drying. Coincidentally, it also functioned as Gamzee’s wardrobe. Whatever he threw on every day just happened to be the driest item on the clothes horse.

Karkat tutted. “For now, you sleep. That’s an activity absolutely nobody can fuck up. I’ll watch over you from another plane. Tomorrow, we start to get your life in order. Alright?”

“…Alright.”


	3. Chapter 3

"Rise and shine! Up and at ‘em!”

Gamzee groaned as the blinds in his room were violently opened, letting in a stream of spring sunshine. Taking a brief look at his phone, it was several hours before he usually got up. 6 AM, in fact. Karkat stood over him, tapping his foot.

“Am I going to have to ascend back to the heavenly plane, try and find the Archangel Gabriel, and politely ask if I could borrow his horn, so I can trumpet your lazy ass out of bed? _Come. The fuck. On._ ” 

He extended a hand, yanking Gamzee off of the mattress and into a standing position. Briefly disoriented, Gamzee rubbed his temples and shuffled his way towards the kitchen, all the while making groaning noises and struggling to keep his eyes open.

Karkat was behind him all the way, just in case he got any ideas of going back to bed. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to use a classic method — a pot and a wooden spoon.”

“Y’ wouldn’t dare…” 

“Oh, I _would_.”

Gamzee’s feet tracked through the grimy carpet and the vinyl flooring of the kitchen, never once vacuumed since the brothers had moved in last year. Karkat seemed disgusted, electing to hover just a few inches off the ground. 

“Sometimes, I like to think of all the achievements humanity has accomplished for themselves, all because they got up off their asses and decided to _do_ something. But apparently just keeping your fucking home clean is too goliath a task for you and your brother. Did you ever hear the phrase: ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness?’”

Gamzee nodded, too weary to pay much attention to Karkat’s rant. No, _sermon_. He opened the fridge, taking a sniff of the milk. It smelled in date, at least. Then he took a taste.  

“…Bluh.”

Karkat took the bottle from his hands, pouring it down the sink. Several curds of cream had formed around the top. “The bread is out of date too, and don’t you even _dare_ think of making bacon and pancakes.”

“Why?”

“Because, dip-shit, the batter _and_ the bacon are out of date too. Look, just go get dressed, take your brother’s money and get breakfast on the way to school.”

“Man, I ain’t going to school. Not with the headache I got.”

“Tough.”

He groaned. “What’s the point, though? I probably ain’t on track to graduate, I’ve missed too many classes.”

“You’ve got two more years,” Karkat snapped. “You can recover from this, and stop yourself from circling around the fucking drain into the same life as your brother. Make something out of your family name, so you Makaras aren’t _all_ known as goddamn crackheads.”

Gamzee frowned, rolling his shoulders and opening the door to his brother’s room. Kurloz and Meulin slept like logs — and from the smell that assaulted Gamzee’s senses when he stepped into the bedroom, they had… a _reason_ to be exhausted this morning. Kurloz barely stirred when Gamzee clambered over his mattress. 

He got on his knees, dislodging the brick that hid his brother’s ill-gotten capital. Kurloz had supposedly learned this from his father, and there was supposedly more cash hidden around the apartment in secret places. Kurloz had only entrusted Gamzee with two locations, leaving just enough spending money to support himself if he ever needed money for school or going out. Going by how efficiently Kurloz ran his business, Gamzee wouldn’t have been surprised if they held at least a few hundred thousand dollars in this apartment alone.

He took two twenty dollar bills, reminding himself to tell Kurloz later. When he was back from school at lunchtime. Or not, if Karkat was going to have his way.

“God, I feel sorry for their guardian angels…” Karkat folded his arms, stood in the doorway. His nostrils were curled. “I suppose out of the lottery of idiot assholes to watch over, I got extremely lucky.”

After replacing the brick, Gamzee took a long stride over the mattress again. He pocketed the money, shrugging.

“I’m going to McDonald’s,” he announced, going to get dressed. 

Karkat’s eyes narrowed, but he offered no further comment.

* * *

 

One breakfast muffin and a coffee later, Gamzee felt at least sufficiently awake to walk in amongst his peers in the general rabble before the first bell for homeroom sounded. Karkat had patronisingly clapped him on the shoulder, ruffling his hair.

“Well done! See, just one day with an angel works wonders.”

“Only ‘cause you would have chewed my ass out otherwise.” Gamzee reminded the angel, who just chuckled, then gave him a stern look.

“Just do as I say, and perhaps I won’t _have_ to ‘chew you out.’” He replied, just as he disappeared before Gamzee’s eyes. “Oh,” added a voice in Gamzee’s head, “and don’t even _think_ of skipping today.”

Skipping sounded like a good option, especially when Gamzee’s homeroom teacher made a sarcastic comment upon calling his name. “Mr. Makara deigns to grace us with his presence, it seems.”

After some announcements, and a quick run to the office to print out his schedule again, Gamzee found himself on the second floor in French class. He didn’t even remember taking it as his elective. But thankfully, his desk was at the back, meaning he could get some sleep in if he needed…

The French teacher droned on about Voltaire and the French Revolution. Gamzee tried to make some notes on his phone under the desk, so he had something to show Karkat later. He’d forgotten any paper or writing utensils, and a cursory look through his locker after class revealed nothing. Well, a few worksheets here and there… And some cigarette papers and tobacco.

_Aw yeah._

Second period was study hall. Nobody would care if he just didn’t show up for that, right? He’d find his spot near the bleachers and just take a good old drag, before showing up to his math class. 

He shut his locker, clandestinely slipping the contraband into his pocket. 

Thankfully, the hall monitor wasn’t around, and the teachers here weren’t the kind to randomly stop and search students. He’d been to a middle school like that back when he lived in the city with his mother. There was a metal detector in the office, in case somebody tried to pull a knife on the principal and his receptionist, though Gamzee had never heard of it happening while he was there.

Shambling down the stairs towards the exit, he kept an eye out for students running on the track, or any physical ed lessons taking place. The sunlight had receded beyond a cover of cloud, looking like a storm was approaching. The air smelled muggy too. That was reason enough for the gym teachers to cancel outdoor activities, it seemed. Gamzee saw hide nor hair of anybody as he ambled towards the same spot most of the school delinquents used to use for smoking and making deals with each other.

Well, there had been a purge as of late. Some cops coming into the school and imposing stricter schedules, escorts and community service on the ‘bad’ kids. Gamzee had somehow slipped out of the net (or maybe Karkat had scratched his name off the register), but he knew that it wasn’t going to be long before some teacher or hall monitor thought to check here, even if it was going to rain up a storm in a few moments. 

Gamzee sat down and shuffled back in the shadows, licking the paper and rolling up the tobacco into a cylinder. He didn’t care even if that stupid angel parted the clouds and shouted down hellfire at him. School was _boring_ and he’d long been left behind by the system. Why should he keep submitting to this prison-like environment?

He was on edge, needing that cigarette more than ever. The storm burst overhead, with thick, fat raindrops splashing onto the track behind him. The nicotine offered blessed relief to his shattered nerves. Gamzee blew some smoke out of his nostrils, deciding this was it for his education. He’d learn at home. They had a computer at home for Internet courses. He’d get his GED elsewhere. He wasn’t exactly going to _need_ to know chemistry, or US history. Well, not the former unless his brother decided to pull a Walter White. Heh.

But still, he and the angel ought to be able to come to a compromise of some form. It was only fair.

He’d shimmied up and over the chain-link fence multiple times over the past year, and grunted as he fell into the bushes below. The school was surrounded by long wooded lanes thick with vegetation, and sometimes used in practical classes by the biology teachers. Gamzee dashed down it, taking the shortcut he knew like the back of his hand until he resurfaced in civilisation, merely across the road from a strip mall. 

He laughed to himself at the sight of Kurloz’s exact car in the parking lot across the way, sauntering across the street and knocking at the tinted windows.

No response.

Huh. Maybe Kurloz and his girlfriend had gone inside for some shopping, or just plain old loitering. Gamzee checked around over his shoulder, and then headed in towards the doors. He waved lazily to the mall cop greeting shoppers at the entrance, knowing he was one of the Makaras’ most loyal customers.

Inside, the mall was certainly run down and in need of better businesses. Seemed like the business rent had been hiked up so much that barely any store could afford to remain open for long here. There was a decent food court, though, down an escalator that creaked and sometimes stopped halfway through the day, turning into a regular flight of stairs.

As Gamzee scouted over the balcony, looking for the wild shock of black hair belonging to his brother, he noticed somebody else staring up directly at him.

Shit. It was Karkat.

He turned to run, only to bump into the angel, materialising in front of him.

“What part of ‘I am a guardian angel who watches over everything that you do’ did you not understand?” He hissed, wings bobbing in a tetchy manner. “Don’t fucking _talk back to me in public_ , idiot. We’ll find somewhere quiet.” He kept a grip on Gamzee’s wrist and raised his finger, snapping it.

The world shifted around them, and Gamzee suddenly felt rather ill with the sudden whiplash of materialising elsewhere. He held a hand over his mouth, breathing through his nose until his heart rate stabilised. “The hell was that?” He asked, looking at his new surroundings — the janitor’s closet, it seemed. Back at ( _groan_ ) school.

“Me, taking you back to _where you’re supposed to be_. I believe you have an art class this afternoon, and I didn’t want you to miss it.” Karkat replied, removing his hand from Gamzee’s arm. “Tell me, what were you going to do? What were you going to accomplish? And why do I have to _nanny_ you for something as simple as just educating yourself?”

Gamzee’s eyes narrowed, the golden tint to them looking rather vicious. “I was going to hang out with my brother,” he snapped. “School sucks ass. I don’t belong here, they don’t care about educatin’ me and I’m _not_ going to need this shit in real life.”

Karkat ground his teeth together, his halo glowing brighter and brighter with rage. “Clearly, I can’t do a _thing_ with you!” Again, he snapped his finger, the pair travelling back to Gamzee’s home. Right in the roach-infested, mouldy mess they liked to call a bathroom. Gamzee felt more nauseous than ever, sinking to his knees and clinging to the commode.

The angel’s teeth clenched again. “Do you know why I took a sudden interest in you? You mortals never normally see us until you’re on your way to paradise.”

Gamzee just groaned in response.

“…What if I told you that I could see your lifespan? And the predestined plan that’s been set in stone ever since your soul was cast down to the earth? And also, how _you’re completely fucking it up!_ ” 

“…What?”

“Yes, you have free will. Big whoop.” Karkat snapped. “But if you are _using_ that free will to make bad decisions regarding your life, then of _course_ that sets off a big fucking alarm bell up in heaven. One day while I’m eating figs and playing harp, I get my ass trumpeted out of my cloud, and I have to answer to one of the choirs. They say, in their ineffable and mysterious language, ‘Karkat, what are you doing to help this foolish mortal?’ And I have to say back: ‘Well, if my charge is being a total idiot, is that my fault or his?’ And they answer: ‘It is your fault.’ And I try and tell them what bullshit that is, and how I _have_ been looking out for you, and even with all the required paperwork submitted, the powers that be decide I need to be thrown out on my ass and looking after you on a more permanent basis. For however long it takes.”

“You’re here on earth because you were lazy?” Gamzee asked, blinking.

Karkat let out a strangled noise of anguish. “Look, you utter _ass-stain_. You are diverting too much from the fucking plan that’s been laid out for you. You know what you should be doing? Getting yourself out of this dump. That’s the very, very first part of the plan. And the only way you are going to do that is by getting yourself educated. I don’t care how, I just want you to get a job and get on your own two feet. Is that so fucking hard!?”  


End file.
